


Right Till The End

by deathmallow



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: BFFs, F/M, Gen, Pre-THG, chronological narrative, friendship fic, giftfic, post-mj, postcanon, precanon, thg_exchange, unrequited romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmallow/pseuds/deathmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She wouldn’t be able to talk to him again until next summer, but by the time the trains left and she headed to Seven and him to Four, he was Finn and she was Jo. </i> A tale of two unlikely best friends.</p><p>For the holiday thg_xchange on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Till The End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sabaceanbabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabaceanbabe/gifts).



> Written for a request of Finnick/Johanna (and including some other requested pairings!) including her three prompts: 1.) "Miss Atomic Bomb" by the Killers, 2.) A night on the town and 3.)I need to remember but please help me to forget. 
> 
> Title is from the Queen song "Friends Will Be Friends". Which is pretty much my F+J friendship song. 
> 
> Skews AU because God knows I am basically incapable of writing canon. But that little habit of mine does tend to keep Finnick alive, so hopefully sabaceanbabe will forgive me. ;)
> 
> Warnings for mentions of forced prostitution, arena-based violence and death, and Johanna's f-bombs. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta Melissa! :)

**65 AT (After the Treason)**

Finnick Odair was beautiful, Johanna saw that the moment they showed the reaping recaps. The kind of beautiful that made sponsors rain down gifts on a tribute, that sort of exotic, sun-kissed, playful Four nature that the Capitol loved. The moment he arrived on the train, the crowds were hysterical for the gorgeous boy from District Four. Far too handsome to die so young, they said. From that moment on the victor’s crown was his to lose.

The rest of the tributes that year didn’t have a chance, especially Seven’s, Issadora Bauer whose dad was in the Masons' lumbering crew, one of the friendliest girls Johanna had ever met but built square and solid as a post; and Birch Denig, who was also fourteen like Finnick but utterly plain. 

They had even less of a chance once that silver trident was in Finnick Odair’s hand. His second kill with it was Birch. The blood was red against the bright etched metal.

At least Birch wasn’t the first or the last, Johanna thought, and as kills went it wasn’t anything unusual. Those were the ones that tended to skip being immortalized, constantly replayed on the highlight reruns. Birch’s family wouldn’t have to watch it over and over in years to come.

**66 AT**

Too young yet for the Capitol and becoming a mentor, Finnick watched the Games from the new house on Victor’s Bayou. The cameras had been there at the reaping, him on stage, and as his name was called as Four’s newest victor, the cameras lingered a little too long in an uncomfortable way. But Reef and Laera looked strong this year, he thought, strong enough to make a good go of it against the others in the Career pack when the break finally came and it was everyone out for themselves.

Caesar and Claudius stopped to cluck their tongues at the Seven recap, where a short girl with long brown hair started crying almost hysterically as the Peacekeepers prodded her up to the stage. But after that nobody paid her much mind. Just one more tribute who’d die in the opening minutes and help open sponsor wallets for the likes of Four tributes who’d proved their mettle.

That was how it was, and in the moment he’d been thinking ruthlessly about having to put on a good show. But after the arena, he dreamed sometimes about that opening melee, the cries of terror and pleas for mercy, and wondered just whose blood it was and how many deaths it had taken to buy his trident.

Once the Games began everyone forgot about the girl from Seven—a training score of one, terrible incoherent interview with wild frightened eyes. Nobody even seemed to notice she’d run off into the maze of hedges around that lush, beautiful garden.

Nobody noticed Johanna Mason at all until she was standing over the body of the Five boy who’d been wrestling with her as they struggled for his axe, painted with his blood and with a totally different wildness in her eyes. 

Everybody fell to her then. She almost beheaded Laera in a fight with a few strokes of her axe. Then finally, she waited all day on the rooftop of the gazebo and killed the Two boy with a hatchet throw while he napped in the shade of a marble pillar. The cannon sounded and she glanced up at the sky and yelled fiercely, “All right, that’s the last one.”

After that, nobody could look away from her, the girl from Seven, so terrible and compelling and frightening.

**67 AT**

“Not much to be done except to let them do what they will,” Blight had said. She found that out quick enough. They took what they wanted, and they left her with nothing at all that was still her own.

Up close and now sixteen, Finnick was still too beautiful in that kind of way that unsettled Johanna. The “I’m way out of your league and I know it” way. She’d known boys like him before. They generally wouldn’t even give her the time of day. 

But here they were, Panem’s newest two little victor-whores, sent out for a photoshoot of them socializing at some nightclub. At least it meant she had the night off from appointments. Being dressed in tight black leather pants and a top laced tight enough it felt hard to breathe and made her really want a bra and gave her a worry about her breasts popping out, she wanted nothing so much as a jacket. The wide tooled leather collar around her throat pressed uncomfortably against the bruises there from Thalius Eland’s attentions last night, but it covered them. Maybe she could talk them into letting her wear something soft like a scarf instead.

“Buy you a drink?” Finnick offered, leaning against the bar. The way he hunched over slightly and turned away from the cameras told her that he was as self-conscious as he was. But then, he wasn’t wearing a shirt under that jacket. 

Was he flirting with her? “What are you drinking anyway?” She peered at his glass, something bright blue and fruity smelling.

“Blue Bayou,” he said. “It’s good.”

“Sure it is,” she said dubiously, thinking it was a ridiculously girly looking drink. Though given he was almost too pretty to be a boy maybe it suited.

*****

Haymitch had been there with his own “date”, which Finnick had a weird suspicion had been kind of deliberate. Still, he was heeding the brusque advice of, _Buy each other some drinks and talk—I don’t give a fuck what you talk about. But you drink, you talk, you laugh, you dance, you make it obvious you’re having so much fun together you don’t have time for anyone else, and you get the hell out of here after an hour or so because you really need to be alone. Got it?_ Mags had told him to trust Haymitch, and Finnick did, even if he couldn’t quite figure the man out.

Away from the cameras, away from the neon lights, he pulled his too-short, too-flimsy silk jacket around himself tighter then noticed that her top, or what passed for her top, meant she was probably even colder. “Here,” he said, moving to pull off the jacket. It wasn’t much, but it would be something and whatever they were doing to him, his mama and his sister had raised him right when it came to respecting girls. Even if he’d killed three of them in the arena.

“You come from the south, fishboy,” she said with derisive snort, arms hugged tightly around herself. Maybe it wasn’t cold so much as trying to cover herself up, he realized. “I won’t freeze.”

“’Fishboy’? Really? That’s the best you have, _treegirl_?”

“OK, Finn the Incredible Fishboy, keep your stupid jacket so you stay warm,” she snapped. “Aren’t fish cold-blooded anyway?” Though the way he was laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it, he was happy to see she joined in eventually; and it wasn’t a fake laugh like at the club. She had a nice laugh, he decided. 

By the time she left the Four apartment after they’d spent half the night on the couch just talking, trying to catch a few hours of sleep before heading to Mentor Central and relieving Mags and Blight, he’d decided for sure she wasn’t going to kill him as soon as look at him.

*****

He was nice, actually, and not nearly as oak-skulled as she’d figured with as pretty as he was. He still drank stupid girly drinks but he was sweet and actually seemed interested in listening—once he got over the obvious worry she was going to plant an axe in his head. But more than that, he was enduring it too. It had taken half the night and several hesitations, but finally, voices kept down low, they’d started to talk about it. She’d pulled off the collar and showed him the bruises. He admitted softly to her about his first appointment with a man.

She wasn’t alone anymore. The thought was such a relief that later that day in the lounge, she kissed him, and soon enough things went from there. They both were awkward and fumbled a bit and he sweetly apologized for things and that almost made her want to be an idiot and cry because finally this was something that was hers and it was _real_. This was something from this time here in the Capitol she actually wanted to remember, and it was helping her forget all the rest, even for a short while.

By the end of the particularly bloody and brutal Games that had even Capitol people muttering that the Gamemakers had overdone it, she also knew more about fucking and pain than she ever wanted to know. Blight was useless as ever. Haymitch was there to a certain point but he made it clear drinks and advice were fine but he didn’t have any interest in being there for any kind of desperately needed physical comfort.

It was Finnick who’d made it all just somehow on the bearable side. She wouldn’t be able to talk to him again until next summer, but by the time the trains left and she headed to Seven and him to Four, he was Finn and she was Jo.

**68 AT**

The pictures of Finnick and Gloss grinding all over each other at the club were everywhere, and from how some of the others were laughing about the noise, obviously they’d gone back to the Training Center and fucked each other. She wanted to kill him or herself for it. Had everything with her really meant so little that she was replaced that easily? So when Cashmere pulled her into the lounge and kissed her she went with it, almost glad to be with a hurt rage that matched her own.

The look on his face when he walked in on her and Cashmere screwing each other brought hot satisfaction at first, but then the rush of shame and embarrassment followed. Haymitch’s little lecture on victor etiquette, _We don’t deliberately hurt our own. So go on and fuck your friends, since it helps keep you together, but don’t you dare fuck ‘em over_ , didn’t help either. She’d been sold, all right, but right then, she felt utterly cheap. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” he burst out miserably, sitting there beside her on the couch. “I just…I wanted…I wanted to show them they don’t control me,” his voice sinking so low she had to strain to hear it. “That I’m still me.”

She sighed. “Did it mean anything?” she asked. 

He glanced over at her, his green eyes still shining with a greatly embarrassed apology. “No. Not like it does with you. Look, I was drunk and I…”

He’d wanted to defy them. She could understand that well enough. “Just don’t do it again, fishboy,” she told him gruffly, reaching out to hug him. He could do dumb things but he was still her friend, not Gloss’ or anyone else’s, and next year he would be here for her after she spent the next months missing him while he was gone in Four, the only friend she had.

**69 AT**

Finnick pushed her gently away when she’d greeted him with an enthusiastic kiss. Eleven months alone, coming back to this shit—Finnick was something that made it more bearable. But here he stood, holding her away from him. “Jo, I’m sorry, we can’t.”

“You don’t have an appointment right now, do you?” It was the middle of the afternoon. “You and me, we’ve got plenty of time before the evening. And if the preps haven’t been at you yet, do you think I give a shit?” If they hadn’t ripped out all the hair on his body yet she was just fine with that. Preferred it, really—she’d never been with someone who hadn’t been totally waxed, and the thought actually gave her an odd tingle of excitement and arousal at the thought of something more real, more normal.

“I mean…we can’t, ever.” His green eyes were apologetic. She stood there, stunned. “I…I met someone. I love her and she loves me. And it wouldn’t be fair to her, me sleeping with someone else. I mean, except for…you know…the ones I have to sleep with. That’s different. She understands that. But you and me, it would be…it would be cheating. So I just can’t.” His expression was pleading. “I need it to be different with her.” _Different from this,_ she read clearly. _Different from you._

She wished he’d slapped her. It would have hurt less than him standing there babbling about how he was in love, like a dagger in the back.

“Her name’s Annie.”

 _Annie._ Like she cared about the name of the person who’d gotten the best parts of Finnick, something she was being forced to realize now she’d never had and now never would. Some sweet little innocent district girl who’d never had to be messed up from being fucked by a pervert, someone who Finnick would see for most of the year rather than a few frenzied weeks each year already tainted by the Games and the whoring. She couldn’t compete with that, could she? “Well, good for her,” she said bitterly, starting to close the door.

“You’re my best friend, Johanna,” he protested just before the last bit closed, and that was the worst knife of all. She held it in until she made it back to her room and her pillow muffled the worst of the strangled sobs.

*****

“I never meant to hurt you,” he told her the next day, cornering her in Mentor Central. “Jo. Please.” Awkward and apologetic still, he was trying to make it right. But it wouldn’t be right ever again. She wished he’d just leave her alone.

She didn’t want to hear all about _Annie_ at length and make her all the more real. She didn’t want to talk about it at length because that would just make it hurt all the worse. After that thoughtless bullshit with Gloss last year, now he hit her with this? “Hey, whatever. She makes you happy?”

She had only to look at his face, how his eyes shone at the thought of Annie, and she knew. This wasn’t some casual fuck. This meant something to him—meant everything. “Yes.”

“Good.” At least he wasn’t hurting her like this for a casual fuck with a girl back home. She was glad he was happy after all the shit they’d been through, even as something in her screamed, _And what about me? I’ve got nothing at all again._ All she’d wanted was occasionally to have something true, something a little bit gentle, and now she couldn’t even have that. “Hey, whatever,” she said coolly. “It was a bit of a shock was all.” She winked. “If you’re off the market, don’t worry, I’m sure I won’t be lonely for long.” With those words, flinging it in his face of _You don’t matter that much to me either_ , somehow she couldn’t quite resist the urge to want to hurt him in return.

*****

That started her campaign to show him just how replaceable he was to her, just like she’d been to him. She’d stunned him with Cashmere last year so she figured it would work again to pick a victor and flaunt it under his nose. Spark Fortescue from Three was first, and then she was rubbing in the fact she’d fucked Gloss just like Finnick had and she risked Cashmere’s wrath by it, but fuck Cashmere anyway. Then it was even some Capitol weirdos in clubs for the tabloids to freely report on, but unlike last year, Finnick didn’t seem to care enough to stop her. Or if he did, he didn’t say anything beyond a few worried looks her way.

Clover Anden cornered her and said, “Get over him before it screws you up even more. You thought you’d really be able to live a total happily-ever-after with a victor from another district? Being near him only one month of the year and not even able to give him a phone call the rest of the time? It doesn’t work out that way.”

“You’re not my fucking mother, Clover,” she snapped. She smirked at Clover later as she followed Clover’s mentoring partner Rye Laaksonen into the lounge. Finnick didn’t even seem to notice, though she made it a point to make it extra loud. Unfortunately after that, Rye seemed to want to think she wanted a repeat performance.

The worst was when she stumbled up to the Twelve apartment intent on fucking Haymitch—he’d slept with her that one time, after all, and a shot or two of liquid courage had her convinced she could make him do it again especially since she wasn’t a clumsy virgin this time. She figured because Finnick respected Haymitch as he did, he could hardly ignore that particular conquest. She knew there was a lot of alcohol for both of them, and a lot of babbling from her, and a lot of listening on Haymitch’s part. She woke up on the couch in the middle of the night on the couch in the penthouse, alone, hung over and with a blanket over her, but still clothed. She didn’t know whether to be relieved, or upset that even someone like Haymitch, so far down the drain now with the booze that he might as well be gone, didn’t want her. 

It didn’t matter. None of them were as good as it had been with Finnick, and when he asked her if she was doing OK, she smirked and just said, “Living the dream, Finn.”

At least those tabloid reports finally got her off the circuit, much as she knew some of the other victors judged her for willingly fucking anyone Capitol. But seemed nobody wanted to pay for the privilege of having what obviously had been so readily on display and been given away for free.

*****

It was a good thing Snow didn't give a shit who his little pet victor-whores fucked on the side, because otherwise, he'd have to take her right hand. She was sure the old pervert probably had more than a few audio tapes of her going at it in the Seven apartments of the Training Center. She didn't care.

Because fucking herself was the only sex that never failed to get her off the way she wanted. Which probably said something about who she'd been screwing, or forced to screw, but she was nobody's little sweetheart. Certainly not Haymitch's, the old drunk, when he snorted the word _sweetheart_ at her and it was exasperation, but the way he looked at her sometimes there was still a spark of endearment. As if that wasn’t all kinds of fucked up given how he’d made it abundantly clear, two years ago and now again this summer, he wouldn’t touch her if she was stark naked in front of him. Still, in his way, he was a friend, which she might as well take for what it was worth because friends were all she was going to get.

Awkward little Hanna used to touch herself, back before the arena. When she could get privacy, because sleeping in the bed with Heike meant it was harder to find. But she'd think of the boys who'd never looked at her and seen someone they'd like to kiss, and the way they always looked at other girls. _You're such a good friend, Hanna._

By the time they called her on Reaping Day she'd never been kissed but she knew how to fuck herself all too well, frustrated and longing to be touched.

She didn't want to be touched now. The less touching during the sex, the less it meant, the less they tried to have some kind of claim to her. She didn't want them pretending it was something sweet and gentle and loving. If it was hard and brutal and fast, that meant it was over sooner. That was all to the good, as far as she was concerned. 

So here she was again, in her bed in District Seven, right hand slipping down between her thighs to stroke just right, thinking stupid thoughts about a boy who told her this summer he wouldn't and couldn’t ever love her the way she’d wanted him, that he'd given his heart to someone who wasn’t fucked up like her, some cute little District Four girl deserving of him. 

_You're my best friend, Johanna._ She thought of skin the warm brown of well-dyed oak, bronze hair and green eyes and why she couldn't just forget him and rip him out of her heart, she didn't know. But as she groaned in pleasure—no point muffling it or biting her lips to keep it in when she was the only living soul in this house—she knew she couldn't. He was one of the few people who actually gave a shit about her anyway. 

_He'll always be my best friend_ , she thought with an almost bitter laugh as she lay there, catching her breath, hips relaxing back into the mattress. Rolling onto her side, curling in on herself, she tried to sleep, tried to not think how alone she was and always would be. She wouldn’t cry, Finnick wouldn’t have tears from her. After all of Panem had seen it from her before her Games, nobody was going to have that weakness from her, ever again.

**70 AT**

Jarrod Stripe pulled the girl’s name slip. _Annelle Cresta._ Inside Finnick’s head, he was screaming, panicking, convinced this was Snow’s way of telling him that obedience and willing submission wasn’t enough, that he wasn’t even going to be allowed this one thing to call his own. But he hadn’t been defiant like Haymitch, he’d done everything asked of him quietly and without a fuss.

“She’s been trained,” Mags told him on the train, after Shoal and Annie went to bed and Finnick hadn’t eaten a single bite of dinner because he knew he’d puke it up. “More than you, even, before you went in. We’ll do everything we can.” 

“Shoal?” he asked quietly, curling up on the chair. He’d grown a lot since fourteen, barely able to fit now in that position that had been so comfortable on that first train ride. 

She hesitated, eyeing him carefully for a minute. “Less of a chance,” she said frankly. “Any boy from Four now has to measure up to you to get any kind of sponsor attention. Besides…you need Annie more.” It was the same as any year, trying to keep both alive as long as possible but generally agreeing which had a better chance in the long run. Still, the fact that Finnick’s attachment came into play for that equation caused him some disquiet. She was probably right about Shoal, though. Drumming up money for male tributes had been difficult. _Send us another Four boy outstanding as you and we’ll see,_ some of them laughed teasingly.

He went to go see her. She kissed him fiercely, pushing him towards the bed. “I don’t have…” One benefit of being a victor, he could readily buy condoms without it being a tougher expense like most people, and virtually impossible for most teenagers. Not as bad as out in the outlying districts where they apparently had to rely on whatever concoction the local apothecary made, just another little way life in Four was easier. But the purchase so fitted his supposed image as a free-wheeling heartbreaker too and that actually helped. Tonight, though, he didn’t have any with him.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, eyes fierce with the need that he felt stirring within himself too, pulling his shirt over his head. “Either I’ll be dead in less than a month or I’ll be alive and having a kid won’t be a problem.”

“You’ll be alive,” he told her, knowing she needed this every bit as much as he did. This wouldn’t be the last time. He wouldn’t let it be. “I’ll do whatever I have to do.” Whatever price he had to pay, he’d bring her out of the arena alive. If she died in there, he might as well reach for a bottle like Haymitch did, because his heart would die with her.

*****

Johanna barely saw Finnick those first few days, busy working the sponsors as he was. She saw Annie, though, on the television. Annelle Cresta: eighteen, tall, slender, tan-skinned, black-haired, with that exotic, dreamy, mysterious look. The crowds loved her, of course. Johanna wanted to instinctively dislike her as much as she had last year, but more and more it was Finnick and his activities that caught her eye.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed. “Kid’s gonna kill himself working it as hard as he is,” Chaff muttered, shaking his head at Finnick flirting away at the Victor’s Social out in Snow’s rose garden. She shook her head and went for another glass of punch. Fucking useless trying to get commitment from sponsors for a Seven tribute here; most of the mentors were only there for the drinks and the obligation. Not Finnick, though. His tributes always had a chance, and apparently he was making damn sure this year that was even more true than usual.

Finally she caught up with him in a club flirting with some Capitol kid who by the looks of him had too little brains and parents with too much wealth. Not an unusual combination, by any means. “How much have you slept since you got here?” she asked him bluntly, sliding onto the stool next to him. Keeping her voice low wasn’t hard, given how loud the music was here.

“I thought you didn’t care,” he said with a tired laugh. She was sure it was eyedrops keeping his eyes clear rather than bloodshot, and careful makeup hiding the bags. His preps were probably screaming in horror.

“Fuck you, Finnick, you expect me to just be _so thrilled_ for you that I couldn’t be upset you dumped me?” she scoffed. She sighed and shook her head. “Look, whatever.” A year hadn’t lessened all the hurt but it was more than enough that seeing him this frantic hurt more. He’d been one of her few friends, her best friend, and she could even think those two words now without wincing. Fact was that she missed him. The sex, sure, but she missed his company even more than that, and his stupid jokes, and those ridiculous drinks he always had. Over the long winter, bitter as it had been, she’d finally come to realize Annie wasn’t something he did to hurt her. It just happened. Maybe she could hope that it would still un-happen, but she’d rather that came to pass by Finnick breaking up with her than losing her in the arena. At the end of the day, she didn’t want to see him hurt. “Tell me what I can do.”

“I thought you hated her.”

She couldn’t exactly deny it and pretend she was all about Annie. “Don’t ask me to get all giddy and love her, but obviously you do. And I’d rather not see you have to watch her die, OK? You’re my best friend.” Accepting that and all it meant would take more time still, but obviously right now he needed that girl to stay alive. “So let me order one of your dumb girly drinks and let’s talk, all right?”

*****

“Congratulations,” Haymitch told him after the Games were over. He leaned in closer and Finnick managed to ignore his high-octane breath. “Take care of your girl, all right?” He hesitated a good few seconds before adding, “At least she’s a victor. That means she’s valuable to Snow now.”

Finnick let out a guttural laugh at that. “Yeah. She is.” Valuable enough to be sold, assuming she was OK after everything in there, and he was so afraid she wasn’t. Nobody came out of the arena the same, but it affected some people more than others. But if there was anything left of Annie, and he prayed fiercely there was, he would be there for her. She’d been there for him already. He’d help her through this.

“She stays alive that way,” and there was a harsh edge to Haymitch’s voice. He calmed down as he realized Haymitch was right. She wasn’t just a pawn now to be killed as a lesson, like the girl Haymitch had once loved. 

“I know.”

“Looks like you and Johanna patched up too. Good.” He raised an eyebrow. “Heard she was busy working some sponsors for your girl.” He corrected himself, “ _Annie_.” Because she wasn’t just another semi-anonymous tribute now at risk of dying, was she? She was a victor; she was one of them.

The words were careful, and he thought about what that meant, about the scarves and long sleeves Johanna had been wearing again this year. But after the stunts she pulled last year screwing around so publicly, she was off the circuit, wasn’t she? But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be selling herself for the promise of sponsorships rather than keeping appointments out of duress. Realization came crashing over him and he winced instinctively. She’d had no reason, except she still cared about him. “She’s a good friend.” That was a debt he could hardly repay to her either.

“Just be there,” Haymitch answered, as if he was reading Finnick’s mind. “As her friend. That’s what she needs most.”

*****

When she answered the door Finnick stepped forward and kissed her, and she wondered if she was having a really good dream. Although when he put a hand on her shoulder and it hit the bruises that was the end of that notion, because the pain told her she was definitely awake.

He looked at her with those green eyes steady and soft. “Thank you.” She didn’t have to ask for what. Obviously he’d figured it out.

“I did it for you,” she told him bluntly. “Not her.” Because at the end of the day, she couldn’t bear to see him like he’d been, terrified and helpless, knowing if Annie died some light that had been kindled in him was going to be snuffed out. Maybe she’d never have love like he’d found, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to lose it.

“I know.” He hesitated. “If you want, we could…”

She understood, and it told her plenty that he was willing to bend on what he’d told her last year about not cheating on Annie, that he would give her this in return. It told her what worth he placed on what she’d done and that he wanted to try to balance the scales a little bit, replace the suffering with pleasure. 

She wanted it for a moment, desperately, wanted to be with someone where it would be more than just a fuck, someone who treated her kindly.

But at the end of the day, he wouldn’t be with her out of simple desire. He meant well but it would be a sense of debt, maybe even of a little bit of pity. Besides, she admitted tiredly to herself, she’d gotten to the point after last year and now this summer, she’d closed too many doors inside, wasn’t sure she’d be able to have anything more than a pretty meaningless fuck. She didn’t want it rough and empty, not with him. All of that wasn’t worth the cost of him having a guilty conscience anyway.

“That was thanks enough,” she said, shaking her head. At least it meant something to hold on to, remembering how even after there had been no future for them, he had kissed her out of genuine feeling. She gave him a bit of a cheeky smile, much as she had to force it a bit. “Don’t tell your girlfriend and I won’t either.”

**71 AT**

“I would have figured I’d see Annie,” just a second of hesitation now before saying the name, “here this year,” Johanna said. “I mean, I know she wasn’t going to mentor instead of Mags. But, new victor and all…” Annie ought to have been on the circuit and busy as hell.

Finnick actually smiled a bit. “There was a slight incident with her stabbing her first patron. So she’s back home. No circuit for her.”

She laughed. “Shit, that’s great style. I might actually like that girl.” Though she wondered what price Finnick had probably had to pay to make up for it and keep people from being punished for Annie’s defiance. Though maybe it hadn’t been outright defiance, maybe it had been a bad snap mentally. Funny to find she actually sympathized with Annie, but given her own total loss of reality at her reaping, and then again in Snow’s office at flashing back to Clark which then had cost her family their lives, she could understand how she’d probably just stabbed the son of a bitch in a panic. Not that she was going to say that in front of Finnick. To everyone except her, her actions leading up to her Games had been a deliberate plan all along. If Finnick, or Haymitch, or anyone else ever suspected otherwise, they were smart enough to not ask. 

Annie had looked like shit at some points on her Victory Tour, had at least one breakdown out in District Eight on camera. Not nearly as bad as Rice who pretty much wrote the book on that notion. Nobody had seen him in the Capitol since his Games four years ago now. “How…is she?” 

“Good days and bad,” he said quietly. “But she’s OK.”

“Probably more good when you’re there.” True enough for her too.

**72 AT**

“Another winner for Four.” Darla was going to help replace the lost opportunity in Annie, Johanna was sure.

“She’ll be popular,” Haymitch said grimly, confirming Johanna’s own thoughts. “Been a while since they’ve had a Four girl here in the Capitol to idolize and you know people were looking forward to _getting to know_ ,” delicate sarcastic irony in those words, “Annie.”

“Been a good long time since they’ve had a Twelve girl too.”

He gave a snort of something that might have been disgust or amusement or both, and drained the rest of his glass in one long pull. “Not any time soon, I’m sure.” His voice dropped low as he added in an undertone, “And better that they don’t.” She could imagine. Being Seven’s first female victor had created its own furor. Being Twelve’s third victor, and the first girl in nearly seventy years, would make that poor kid unbearably popular unless she was ugly as a badger’s ass. 

“Well, you can’t mentor more boys and deprive all of us of your wonderful company,” she said, gesturing to the bartender to get him another drink. He was most of the way to drunk already but what the hell, in some ways it was nice to sit with another embarrassment and just be able to engage in some good honest griping.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He smirked over at her. 

“Fucking thing it is,” she said, clinking glasses with him. Maybe it was her own drunkenness creeping up on her but she said, “Eleven months of the year, everybody avoids me back home. One month here and it’s the worst month of my year, but it’s the best also.” Because that was the month she had someone like Finnick there, helping her remind her that maybe there was still something good left in her, and how he brought it out. The tumultuous early years had come and gone and they’d both done their share of thoughtless, idiot things. But it had settled now. The one true thing was that he was there for her and she was there for him. _Best friend_ had changed; it was far more of the balm now rather than the sting it had been. 

“It’s a bitch, all right. But it keeps you from just walking out into the woods and not stopping. Someone that still thinks you’re worth something.”

That night she was the one Finnick called first, and she was the one holding him when the medical team came for Mags to take her to the hospital. A stroke, they said, and they weren’t sure she’d make it. She wouldn’t tell anyone he cried on her shoulder, terrified he’d lost a woman who’d become family to him. So she’d be there, trying to convince him it would all be OK, even when she wasn’t sure of it herself, because that was what he so obviously needed right now and she was the one who was there.

**73 AT**

Johanna looked at Willow. The girl was well named—slim and tall for her age, a waterfall of brown hair around her shoulders like willow branches. Such a child, though. She didn’t even have a hint of tits or hips yet. _She won’t ever have them either, she thought. She’s not even gonna make it to thirteen._

Twelve-year-old Willow Cooper was going to die, probably in the bloodbath. If not then, it would be shortly after. She stared at the girl. ”You’re not going to make it,” she said bluntly, seeing no point in pretty lies. She was too young and too frail and she was from Seven anyway and the sponsors never loved that. ”If I were you I’d end it quickly.” Weakness was even more dangerous in a District Seven tribute because seven years earlier, Johanna herself had “faked” her way along and they didn’t want to risk another Seven ringer tricking them.

Willow nodded and licked her lips nervously. ”I know,” she whispered. Johanna had gone into the arena too terrified to be aware of anything. How much worse must it be to see and understand it all and be totally helpless?

Unlike last year’s girl, Freya, she thought she could actually get through to this one. ”Just run for the Cornucopia and they’ll make it quick,” she said, hating Snow, hating the Capitol, hating that she was advising a child to basically go kill herself to spare herself a slow dying. If they caught her later they could possibly make it agonizing, if they were sadistic assholes. In the bloodbath the Careers would just focus on thinning the field as quickly and efficiently as possible.

“OK,” Willow said, sitting down on the chair in the living room and pulling her feet up, tucking them under her, looking even younger and more vulnerable. Johanna sighed and went to go talk to Blight, who’d been discussing with the boy, Rhus.

“Thoughts? Willow’s done. I’ll talk to Finn about it.” See if she couldn’t possibly get him to nudge one of his two Careers towards taking the small, weak ones out first. She’d make it as quick as she could for Willow. That was the best she was allowed.

“Rhus might have a chance,” Blight answered, though the flicker of pain in his expression about Willow was pretty obvious. Rhus was seventeen, pretty strong. She had the same opinion. ”Can you…”

Sure, he left it to her. He always fucking well left it to her because the old bastard just couldn’t handle it anymore, talking to the sponsors and dealing in ending or saving kids’ lives. Useless. ”Yeah. Allies.”

Allies for a Seven tribute. Well, Finn’s boy and Mags’ girl were spoken for by the pack, obviously. Haymitch’s kids were both tiny, half-starved little things, even more useless than usual. Haymitch was in tight with Chaff and Seeder, but the Eleven tributes were both thirteen. She sighed. ”I’ll go talk to Eight, Nine, and Ten. Ten’s girl Sandy looks like she might be a contender.” Maybe get Haymitch to help, if she could. She was sure he’d realistically already given up on his own two kids so maybe he’d lend her a hand since he knew the other mentors better than her. All she had to do was hand him a bottle, right?

But first things first. “I need a favor,” she told Finnick bluntly, sliding onto that familiar stool next to him at the bar. She ordered him one of his shitty little fruit cocktail drinks first.

“Anything,” he said. _You’re my best friend,_ she heard again in her mind. It might not be everything, but it still meant more to her than just about anything else.

“Your boy or Mags’ girl. Which one’s going to listen more?”

“The girl. Ocella.” His drink arrived, garnished with a wedge of orange. Fucking thing even had a swizzle stick in it shaped like a giant pink long-legged bird. She was pretty sure she’d seen those things in some arena recap or another killing a tribute and suppressed a shudder. She hesitated.

“Dance?” he nodded out to the floor. She shrugged; might as well give the tabloids something to play with.

“Not worried to leave your drink?” she said sarcastically. “Someone might drug it.” She’d been drugged once or twice by patrons, woken up sore and bruised. Apparently some kinky shits out there really enjoyed someone who was unconscious. In some ways those had been the worst, because it meant they hadn’t even wanted the illusion of being with another a person. They just wanted a hole to fuck.

He gave a grim little laugh. “Everyone knows I’m so free with my favors when I’m conscious, Jo, why would anyone have to drug me?” Point taken, although she could see some asshole thinking because Finnick was supposedly such a playboy that he wouldn’t mind it.

“Just keep an eye on your fucking drink, will you?” She leaned close, trying to ignore the feeling of his hands on her waist as they danced. “My girl’s done for. She knows it. I told her to run for the Cornucopia. So do us both a favor and you and Mags tell your girl to target the weak ones first. Your girl looks good for the sponsors, mine gets it over with.”

He was silent for some long moments. “Sorry I’m not from District Four where the Capitol loves us all so much they always want to try to make us winners,” she snapped defensively, the memory of Darla’s obvious years of training and her lavish sponsorship gifts last year while Johanna watched as Seven’s girl Freya starved to death still sharp in her head. “The rest of us have to deal with the reality of having a snowball’s chance in hell.” 

“We didn’t ask for that love, and we pay for it,” he said harshly. “Over and over. But it’s there so we might as well use it. That’s our reality.” 

“I know that.” Darla was paying hard for it this year, she knew that too. “But let’s be realistic. Willow’s not going to survive. No point prolonging it. And you might as well use that for your girl and try to bring her home.”

He sighed and shook his head. “I’ll talk to Mags.” She was glad Mags was back this year, with a cane and garbled speech, but apparently she and Finnick had both learned the Avox handsigning so she could communicate. Johanna had to appreciate that the woman was damn fierce even at her age, to keep coming back and mentoring and trying to bring more kids home.

Two days later Rhus, Sandy, and others were poised in a Seven-Eight-Ten alliance. And she watched Willow take her advice to heart even more so than Johanna had thought. She murmured, “Bye, Mom,” and dropped her wooden ball token off her plate. The explosion of the mines through Johanna’s mentor headphones was deafening.

 _Fuck_ , Johanna thought, turning away for a moment. At least if she died in the bloodbath she would have been able to sew up Willow’s body for her family. But maybe that was the smarter move, ending it before the thing even began, ending it on her terms. Shaken but trying to not show it, she reached over and switched the dial to Rhus’ feed. 

Finnick looked up at her from his station and mouthed, _Sorry_ , to her, eyes full of regret.

**74 AT**

“Maybe,” Finnick said carefully to Johanna after the victory trumpets were over, “maybe this means something. The rules being changed and all.”

“It means Haymitch has two new neighbors and he won’t be needed as a mentor any more—not with two cute little kids to replace him—and they’ll both be in very high demand next year,” she answered him, bitter knowledge on the last words, shoving a bottle of that Seven cherry liquor at him and shaking her head. “You think this really means anything? You still have a ‘date’ tonight, don’t you? And tomorrow?” He did; his schedule had been even more full than usual for the last couple of weeks ever his time was completely unfettered, since Painter got killed by Brutus’ boy and then Haymitch’s girl Katniss unleashed the tracker jackers that killed Kiera. Four was out of the Games the earliest in recent memory. It didn’t matter. 

She was right, he realized, seeing the sheer hysteria surrounding Katniss and Peeta already. Their romance would dissuade some buyers, of course, not wanting to taint something supposedly so pure and innocent. The girl was a poor actress, and Haymitch had admitted bluntly to him that she was playing the role in the interest of survival. He took a drink, suppressing a cough. He’d never liked strong liquor the way Haymitch and Chaff and even Johanna did. 

But oh, too many people still would want to possess a piece of either of those kids. Or both. He could see them being a very popular double act, the next Cashmere and Gloss. “Maybe it’s the start of something, though.” _Something_ had changed, even to the point of making Haymitch decide to once again risk far too much in making the Gamemakers look bad. Though glancing over at him, sitting there looking far more pensive than celebratory, Finnick thought he seemed well aware of that fact. _All those little secrets I have,_ he thought, _maybe that would be of use._ He’d earned those things in blood and sweat; maybe not so much tears by this point, at least not outwardly. But maybe the time would come where all that would prove of some worth. 

“Then I wish it would hurry the fuck up.” She grabbed the bottle from him and took a drink. He couldn’t disagree.

**75 AT**

Finally seeing her in person, Annie was tall and slim and graceful, everything she wasn’t. The first time in the Training Center Johanna saw her having an episode, and Finnick murmuring softly in her ear, his hand on her shoulder, it felt like a stab in the heart. But he loved her. Oh, how he loved her, and seeing everything in those few moments that he gave to Annie that she recognized now she’d never had, it hurt all over again in a way it hadn’t in years. But he loved that girl and that meant she couldn’t bear to hate her because it would hurt him.

Annie wouldn’t be in the arena, or Katniss’s sweet little loverboy Peeta. They were two people that just inspired people to throw themselves in front of the danger for their sake. It wouldn’t have mattered if there had been anyone to volunteer for her. She knew they wouldn’t.

*****

“Well,” Johanna said, sidling up to him at the knot-tying station, “this sucks. Hopefully it won’t come down to you and me in the end.”

That was the shittiest part of it. Not going back into the arena, lousy as that was, but going back in with fellow victors. Not really her friends in most cases; but nobody going in there was totally without someone they’d hate to kill. In her case, even she didn’t want to kill Finnick or Haymitch.

Finnick laughed, though it had a dark edge to it. “Hopefully.” 

_And if it did?_ she thought, watching him steadily tying his knots.

She didn’t want to know if she’d be selfless enough to die to let him go have whatever life he was allowed to have with Annie. It was one thing to let herself be fucked for that, and that had been hard enough. It was a shitty life but it was still hers. 

Though quickly enough she realized that if she killed him that she might as well be dead. Sure, there was the angle that the country would probably scream for her blood if their vicious bitch killed their golden heartthrob. But mostly if she killed him to keep herself alive, then she would finally have let them make her entirely what they had told her she was: vicious, cutthroat, entirely heartless. Life wouldn’t be worth having at that point.

“Hopefully,” she agreed again, turning away and seeing Enobaria at the wrestling station. Time to go pick a fight and clear her mind, she decided.

*****

“Johanna!” he yelled, seeing the dark green of her shirt. She was alive, and unhurt enough to be walking. Even if he was in this living hell and might not make it out, for this moment that made everything suddenly just that little bit more bearable.

She passed by him that night, his tears for Mags finally all cried out, probably on her way for a bathroom break in the bushes. Nothing said, no big gestures either—not with the cameras so voracious. They’d given far too much to the cameras anyway in their lives.

But she reached out and touched his shoulder. That moment of contact said enough. It said, _I’m sorry_ and _I’m here_. He caught her fingers in his just for a split second and she squeezed and then let go.

*****

After the electrical shock he was dazed enough it took a good half-dozen tries for him to understand. But when he did he felt like he’d been punched. Annie was safe on the hovercraft. Johanna—and Haymitch, for that matter—weren’t. He felt like half his heart had been safeguarded, and the other half torn to shreds.

That on top of losing Mags was all too much. _I’ll lose Annie too,_ he thought with a sudden terror, _I’ve lost everyone, I can’t keep her safe, I didn’t keep Johanna safe._ As he felt the sting of the needle part of him wished he would wake up in a Capitol cell too because the thought of her enduring that alone, thinking that she had been abandoned and deemed expendable, was unbearable.

*****

Forced to listen to Johanna in the cell next door, Haymitch heard far more than he wanted. While high on tracker jacker venom, she screamed at plenty of hallucinations. Sometimes it was Finnick. Mostly she pleaded with him and obviously needed him to be there as her friend, one of her last hopes, but a few times yelling bitterly that she hoped he was happy off fucking his girlfriend while she was here being tortured to death.

He didn’t tell her. The screams of pain were bad enough, the hallucinations were far worse. Whatever he said, he hoped she wouldn’t tell him either.

*****

The news was that the rescue team had brought them back but without details. When the news came, he and Annie met up with Katniss and Peeta right outside the hospital wing, waiting. Instinctively his fingers crept down to mesh with Annie’s, praying something that was mostly just a litany over and over of _Please please please please_ , the anxiety stretched thin over weeks of fear now at its breaking point.

Sensing Katniss next to him, seeing how she was clutching Peeta’s hand for dear life, he reached for her free hand too. Startled, her dark grey eyes rose to his, though she didn’t let go. Maybe she was remembering, like him, that evening on the stage, holding hands in an unbroken line, how they stood together as one whole rather than twelve district pairs. The four of them were in this as one, waiting for their friends—their _family_ —to be returned to them.

The gurneys arrived, rushed into the hospital wing, and he had no time except to catch a few glimpses, as the staff brushed them aside impatiently and told them to stay out of the way. He saw enough. Shaved heads with cuts where the razor had been wielded without care. Bruises, fresh scars, and healing wounds were visible on what skin he could see, and he could only imagine what was covered by the sheets they had draped over them, probably after the medic had tried to stabilize them on the long hovercraft flight. The image of the haunting protrusion of cheekbones, collarbones and shoulder blades, and the knobs of spine, spoke eloquently of long weeks of slow starvation.

“They’re alive,” Peeta said huskily as the door banged shut after the last gurney. “They’re alive,” he repeated with more conviction.

“They’ll pull through,” Annie said quietly. “They’re tough.” Still, the image of Johanna like that was burned into his brain, Haymitch too for that matter, and he knew he couldn’t leave until he heard it for himself that they would recover. 

He sat down to wait, and he was relieved when Annie didn’t question it but simply sat there too, holding his hand. The moment of sheer unity broken, Katniss and Peeta took seats a little ways down, needing their own little piece of semi-privacy to talk in hushed tones. But he had the feeling none of them would be the first to leave. 

“You need to be here. They’re your friends,” she said simply, green eyes holding his gaze. That quiet understanding from her meant everything to him right then. 

_Maybe they’ll be yours someday too,_ he thought.

*****

“Annie and I are getting married,” Finnick told her.

“Congrats,” she said, grateful that the morphling made everything a little bit fuzzy, emotions included. Being comfortably numb had its merits. Maybe Haymitch had really been on to something brilliant for all those years with the booze. It was just all too much to take in right now. 

“I would have gone on that hovercraft to come get you if they’d let me,” he said fiercely, leaning down to say it quietly. “I debated stowing away anyhow.”

“Totally useless to me if you get yourself shot doing that,” she said with a snort of amusement. But then she simply said, “Thanks,” trusting he knew the depth of what she meant by that. He hadn’t forgotten about her or written her off like the venom had made her think. The look in his eyes right now told her that true enough, truer than any Capitol mindfuckery.

*****

“I kissed Johanna,” he blurted one morning, watching Annie brushing out her long dark hair. It made him think of Johanna down in the hospital ward even now with the others, her head roughly shaved. It made him think of the long hair she’d had once, back so long ago, hair he’d never touched before she hacked it off.

He couldn’t say why he said it. No, he could. They were getting married in three days and somehow it seemed important that the lies and the secrets be over and done with, and not just Snow’s either. 

Annie put down the brush and half-turned, green eyes steady on him. “What, just now?” He could hear the trepidation there, lurking just beneath her steady words, waiting to hear what he would say.

“No. During your Games.” He drew in a breath and said, “Because she was… helping bring sponsors for you. For my sake. They roughed her up. A lot, because that’s the kind of patrons that tended to buy her before that. But she wouldn’t want you to know that, of course. Johanna doesn’t like people feeling bad for her.”

“I got that impression.” She still didn’t look away. “So I owe her for that. And for helping keep you alive in the arena.” She gave a soft little snort. “Not that I’m still in favor of how she looks at you sometimes, but…”

“She wouldn’t ever try, Annie,” he told her. “I…offered to sleep with her. Then.” He admitted it, feeling the heat of embarrassment prickling in his cheeks. “Because I felt like I could at least give her that. But she turned me down and I realized later what a bad idea it was. I’m yours. Your husband soon enough. But she’s my best friend.”

“I trust you,” she said simply. “And sounds like I can trust her where it counts.”

*****

He wasn’t surprised she made it onto the squad on her retest. “Wouldn’t be the same without you,” he teased her as she flung axes at the dummy.

“Someone has to be there to help watch your ass,” she snarked at him, but she was smiling, more than she had been in a long while. He wasn’t quite sure why yet but it looked good on her. She didn’t have to say it but he knew she was glad he was going with too. Like in the arena, he’d feel better knowing the two of them would be there to look after each other. This time, though, he wouldn’t stand to leave her behind.

*****

“Told you someone had to watch your ass,” she said when he woke up, seeing his green eyes fogged with pain and morphling, but at least she knew for sure he would survive. He’d go back to Annie and raise that kid with her, and she’d been afraid he’d die before he got that chance.

He’d stayed close by when she was the one in the hospital wing. Now she was going to return the favor. All right, the fact she was stuck here too while she was recovering made it easy, but the point still stood.

**76 AT**

Things had changed so quickly. Being in the Capitol now with him in winter rather than summer was odd enough. But the Games would never bring them together again, year after year. She hesitated in the cold January air, not wanting to say goodbye just yet, struck by the peculiar feeling of bidding goodbye to both the good and bad of the way their friendship had been forged by those Games. But both of them were going on to a better future, and she was comforted in knowing that the bond they had went far beyond being forced together by the Games. They’d be friends for life.

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, putting his arms around her for a moment. “You know you’ll always be welcome in Four,” he promised. “Any time of the year.”

**77 AT**

“Her name’s Johanna,” Finnick told her over the phone. “Yelling her head off from the moment she arrived.”

She laughed, imagining it, liking it. “Good. She’s got a lot to live up to there.” Tongue-in-cheek, she joked, “And at least there’s one girl out there named for me rather than Katniss. I’ll make her an axe for defending herself against her boyfriends when she’s a teenager.”

“Jo…” he groaned at the same old joke she’d used last time.

“Kidding. We’ll be there soon enough once things get less crazy here. Besides, waiting a few weeks won’t hurt. I hate your summers.” The heat and the humidity were miserable enough, but she’d found that combination plus the beaches reminded her far too much of the Quell arena. No, autumn would do just fine, and that was only a month away anyway. 

“Yeah, well, here’s notice that I hate your winters.”

“A little snow won’t kill you, fishboy,” she mocked him gently.

“Treegirl,” he teased her right back. 

“Fine,” she told him, relenting. “I’ll tell Haymitch. The next boy is Finnick.” She didn’t think he’d disagree with that either.

“What, are we expecting that bundle of joy imminently?”

“C’mon. I just had one,” she complained. “Until you’re the one in labor, shut up. Besides, trees and coal take a long time. We don’t spawn every year like fish.”

“Ah, fine. But Annie and I are looking forward to meeting him. After all, with parents like his, he’ll probably be smart enough to take over the world at age five.”

“I’ll settle for getting him toilet trained first before he starts thinking about world domination,” she said wryly. She almost said something stupidly sentimental like _Did you ever back then that think we’d be happy like we are now, talking about kids and not worrying about the Games?_ Instead she said, “You have two kids now. It’s time to finally grow up and drink something manly, Finn. We’ll bring you some whiskey to celebrate.”

Hearing his laugh over the phone, she couldn’t help but smile. Not together like she’d hoped for when they both were so young and scared, but that was all right, both of them had found good things in their lives, found someone to love, and they still had each other. _Best friends,_ she thought, the idea bringing no pain but only warmth.

*****

_Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.  
-C.S. Lewis_


End file.
